


I'll Kiss You Goodbye (You Won't Regret A Part Of This)

by tequilatuesdays



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF
Genre: Angst, Break Up, Desperation, Emotional Hurt, M/M, Panic Attacks, Regret, Sadness, happiness? what's that?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-14
Updated: 2019-04-08
Packaged: 2019-08-23 15:04:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16621256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tequilatuesdays/pseuds/tequilatuesdays
Summary: I'm sorry. I was sad last night and there was a lot of red wine... Sorry?It's spilling out of me now, word vomit, about how you are still so young and how you have this whole life in front you and how there will be others, you deserve so much better. I acted out of impulse, a spur of the moment thing.And then I tell you the biggest lie I have ever told: I don't love you like that. I thought I did but I don't.





	1. Armie

**Author's Note:**

> This was actually supposed to be a one-shot as I have never written a multi-chapter fic before. I'm more into writing poems, short and straight to the point, just raw emotions in a few verses. But I want to face my fears of using direct speech, people communicating with each other. I want to (somewhat) follow a story line. Thank you to everyone who sticks around!

By the time I arrive at your door, I have practised my spiel a thousand times, changed it a thousand times, regretted it a thousand times.  
A cold and distant monologue of all the why nots and should nots and can nots.  
I have almost managed to convince myself that I mean every word. Almost.  
With a shaky hand I shove the key into the lock and turn it, taking one last deep breath, telling myself that this is the right thing to do. We can't go on like this.

I walk through the hallway and step into the lounge.  
A pizza box is lying open on the floor in front of the couch.  
Plain cheese, two slices missing.  
A third with a couple of bites taken out of lies on a paper napkin next to four cans of beer on the little coffee table.  
The earthy smell of weed is still lingering in the room and I can hear you breathing softly as you sleep.  
I walk towards the couch where you are resting, covered in two blankets, one arm hanging off the side of the armrest and remnants of tomato sauce still clinging to the corner of your mouth.  
I carefully run my hand through your hair. It’s so much shorter now, almost like when we first met.

I smile at the memory of how we began.

Your hair is soft and silky and I lightly twirl the curls around my fingers, the smile on my face slowly fading as I remember why I came here in the first place.  
I stare blankly at my feet, a pang of guilt washes over me.  
I need to tell you why I insisted on coming over, why I rang twelve times and hung up eleven, a cowardly move, but I just couldn’t find the courage or the right words. 

_“Armie...”_ you breathed my name into your phone and I swallowed hard.

_“Are you... are you... home? I’m... I... I need to talk to you...”_ I was a stuttering mess.

_“Yes, I am. What’s wrong?”_

I only managed to sigh.

_“Are you okay?”_

Nothing.

_“Are we... okay?”_

_“I’ll be there tonight. I... I’ve got to go...”_

 

You stir in your sleep and I watch your face, still mesmerised by your soft, delicate features.  
Those cherry lips, slightly curved, your nose, covered in light freckles. I unsuccessfully tried counting them once, in Italy, when we were lying behind Villa Albergoni during lunch break and your head was resting on my chest. The sun had kissed you even more than I did that summer and it was impossible to tell how many of them covered your face. 

_“I could never hurt you.”_ I say quietly and your eyes snap open instantly. You always were a light sleeper. 

_“ Armie... You're here...”_ you are smiling up at me. Sleep-drunk still. Oblivious.

There it is again. My name in your mouth sounds like a question and a prayer at the same time and I feel my skin tingle.

Everything I say from here on out has been rehearsed over and over again.  
I recite a litany of excuses and lies and apologies of how I never meant for all of this to get so serious between us, how I lead you on, how I got caught up in my feelings. I tell you I can't leave my kids, my wife, my life. I tell you I'm a fucking coward and that it's okay if you curse my name and hate me.  
It's spilling out of me now, word vomit, about how you are still so young and how you have this whole life in front you and how there will be others, you deserve so much better. I acted out of impulse, a spur of the moment thing.  
And then I tell you the biggest lie I have ever told: I don't love you like that. I thought I did but I don't.

I want for the ground to open up and swallow me instantly. I hate myself. I loathe myself, it leaves me breathless. I feel dizzy, I need to grab hold of the couch. What the fuck am I doing?

 

You sit up, your head is propped up on your left hand and you run your pinky finger over your eyebrow like it's soothing. You close your eyes. 

_“You're a fucking liar!”_ You spring to your feet and dash towards me. 

_“You're a fucking liar, Armie. And you're a coward! You are just too afraid to admit what's really going on here. You are in love with me and it scares you. These feelings scare you. You are finally free, no more constrictions, no more archaic family values holding you back. You are free and happy and loved! I love you, Armie. You need to accept that you are worth being loved. You are panicking now because everything is falling into place. You are 32 and you are finally allowed to live free and I want to share this life with you. I want you!”_

_“You don't know what you're talking about”_ I take a step back and you recoil.

_“I don't know what you're talking about? How dare you! We have lived this way for over two years, Armie! Two years! Travelling the world together, sneaking around, secret dates and visits... All those interviews and q &a's. We can't pretend to be hiding anymore. We can't hide what's so fucking obvious to so many people. Everything is about to be out in the open. Literally.”_

You lean your head to one side, your shoulders drop and tears are welling in your eyes.  
I still hate myself more than I could ever imagine hating anyone or anything else. 

_“I... I'm sorry... I...”_

_“Don't you fucking dare tell me you're sorry, Armie. Don't patronise me.”_

I push my way past you towards the door.

_“It's easier to leave, isn't it?”_ you shout at me, the angry vein on your forehead protruding.

_“No, no it isn't...”_ I answer. My voice is shaky, almost a whisper.

I already have my hand on the door handle when I can feel you grab my shoulder. 

_“Please... don't... Please don't push me away like this. I don't deserve that! Please... I'll give you all the space you need, all the time you need but please, please don't cut me out of your life.”_

The tears are spilling down your cheek and I try to swallow the lump in my throat.

I turn around and wrap you in my arms, pull you as close as possible and bury my face in your curls. You are sobbing and my heart breaks. 

 

I can't do this.


	2. Timothée

Your scent is still lingering and it makes me feel sick.

The last kiss tasted bitter. It reminded me of bile. Made me nauseous. I hated it. 

But I needed it so badly.

I begged you to stay, to give me another hour to talk you out of doing something you'll regret.  
I begged and I cried and I sobbed but you just let go of me and stood there, shaking your head, staring at your feet instead of into my eyes. 

You couldn't even look at me. 

I tried to reason with you but it's like you flicked a switch somewhere deep inside of you, somewhere so deep no amount of tears seemed to be able to touch.  
Your face just went blank, almost hostile, emotionless. 

It was the first time ever that I looked at you and couldn't find a single inch I loved about that face.  
Your bright blues eyes were dull and wide, glazed over as you were staring at your own feet.  
Your lips were pressed together so tightly it made your chin tremble. No more plush upper lip I remember sinking my teeth into just a few days ago, making you moan and thrust harder into me.

I reached up to touch your face but you flinched and took two steps backwards. 

"I just want you to live your life, be happy. You can't be happy with me if I'm not even happy with myself. Tim, I can't do this anymore."

"Coward!" 

I sank to the floor, my back against the wall next to the front door. 

I remember how you once told me you'd only hurt me if I let you, and I let you, over and over again. Every night for weeks, because I liked it, because you liked it. Because it brought you so much joy to watch me squirm under your tall body, quivering, constantly begging for more, for you to go harder, deeper, faster.  
You touched me and I was under your spell, instantly. I let you bend my body in ways I didn't know it could bend, took all your fingers at once, choked on your cock and let you fill me with your cum.  
I gave myself to you, wholly. 

I did all those things she would always refuse to do. 

I made you happy. 

And now I have to watch as you wrap your trembling fingers around the door handle, twist the knob and pull the door open. I close my eyes and feel the last two tears roll down my cheeks. Your footsteps sound like thunder, heavy, roaring in my ears. I punch the floor with my fists and kick the door shut behind you. 

I want to scream, I want to shove you across the room and shake you and I want scream in your face. I need you to know how much I am hurting, how much you hurt me. 

But I just let myself fall to the side, curl up in a ball, hugging my knees. And I cry.  
I cry and I wail and I sob until I almost throw up from exhaustion.  
My heart is racing, beating out of control. It hurts.  
I scrape my nails across the hardwood floor, don't feel a thing. Smash my fist into the wall and watch the blood seep out of the gash on my knuckles, I don't feel a thing.  
All I feel is my heart, about to burst.

 

And then my phone rings.


	3. Pauline

I find him in the hallway next to the front door, curled up in a ball, snot running down his upper lip, eyes swollen and red.  
I rang him an hour ago and when he finally answered after the third time, all I could hear were muffled sobs and a barely audible _“I need you! Can you come?”_.

So I got into the next cab and ran up 4 flights of stairs to his apartment.

I had just gotten in from Paris and was expecting a couple of quiet days with the family. Lazy evenings on the sofa watching bad TV, strolling through New York, a bit of shopping and a lot of pizza.

I was craving a little time with just my brother, my parents, my New York. I love Paris, sunsets at the Seine, seeing the Eiffel Tower from my bedroom window, but New York is home. New York is family, is comfort. 

_“Timo, hey. Look at me.”_

I cup his face in my hands, wipe the tears from his cheeks. He hugs me so tight, it's almost hard to breathe. He continues crying into the crook of my neck while I try and get him on his feet and we walk over to the couch.

_“What happened? What's going on?”_

I drag him into the living room and he collapses on the big armchair next to the TV. I bend down to sit down next to him on the floor, my back against the wall.  
Is that blood?  
He covers his face with his hands and I see his split knuckles. 

_“Timo talk to me. What the hell happened here? Did you punch him? DID HE HURT YOU?!”_

I grab his hand and dab at the wound with the sleeve of my sweater. 

_“He...he just left... me. He left me.”_

His voice is soft, almost fragile. I can hear his heart is broken and it hurts me almost as bad. 

_"And no. I punched the wall. Not him."_ he snivels, wiping at his nose with his other hand.

He can barely utter his words between the tears and the sobs - it takes him ten minutes to fill me in on what had happened.  
On what Armie had said. How he had been willing to blame it all on himself, that he let it go to far, how he never thought it was going to get this serious between the two of them. And then he just left him there on the floor of Timmy's apartment and walked out on him.  
I knew this day would come. Their... affair ("IT'S NOT AN AFFAIR, PAULINE. I LOVE HIM AND HE LOVES ME!") had been going on for too long. People were bound to find out soon. I told him so a hundred times. I warned him. We all did. My parents, our friends, his team. 

But I know my brother. Once he has set his mind on something... someone, it's hard to deter him. He's stubborn. Loyal. I love him for it. 

In the end, you will be the only one getting hurt, I used to warn him. You will be the one who will end up heartbroken. He will go back to his wife and kids and he will continue living his happily-never-after. 

He doesn't need me to lecture him again though. Not today. Not right now.  
Right now he needs his big sister. And a drink.  
So I get up and walk over into the kitchen and pull two beers from the fridge. 

_"Do you have anything stronger?"_

He is cowering in the chair, face buried in his hands. He looks up and nods towards the shelves in the living room. 

My little brother looks like he's five years old again and crying because he hurt himself while playing football with the other kids. 

I sigh and grab two glasses, the bottle of vodka and walk over to the armchair.

_"Here. Drink this."_

He gulps the vodka down in one go, pulls a face and shakes his head. 

_"What am I gonna do now, Pauline? I can't lose him. I love him!"_

_"Look, I am not going to tell you 'I told you so' – that would be mean. But Timmy, we have all warned you that this would happen. You knew exactly what you were in for._  
_He is a married man and sooner or later his conscience would come calling, he'd panic and he would drop you in a heartbeat. I'm so sorry you are hurting.  
I wish I could take all this pain away from you. I'm here. I'll stay here. For as long as you need me." _

He looks up at me, tears running down his cheeks and my heart breaks for a second time today. 

I get up and squeeze into the armchair right next to him, pull him into a tight hug and we stay like that for God knows how long. I just let him cry. 

An hour later the bottle of vodka is empty. He drank most of it.  
I pull him from the armchair and drag him into the bedroom where he plops onto the bed and is asleep almost instantly. 

_"Je t'aime, Pauline. You are my favourite sister. Always."_

_"I'm your **only** sister, doofus. I love you too."_

I turn off the lights and walk back to the living room.  
For the first time this evening I check my phone. Four missed calls and one message.

 

**< I'm in way over my head, Pauline. I don't know what to do! I never meant for him to get hurt. Please believe me. >**

 

Fuck. I wish there was more vodka!


	4. Timothée

When I wake up the conversation from last night still rings in my ear.  
I know Pauline is right. Deep down I know.  
But I don't want her to be. I don't want to hear all those things.  
What I want is for him to come back, pull me into one of his bear hugs and for everything to go back to how it was just a couple of days ago. 

My head is pounding and I decide to stay in bed. Alone. Hurting. Hopeless.  
Just lie here forever and never move again.  
My muscles will lose strength, bones will become brittle. My body will be floppy and useless. Worthless. I'll fade away.  
I will just lie in bed, my hair and nails will keep growing and growing and all I'll do is sleep and cry and curse his name at night.

Too dramatic, right? 

Fuck it. I decide to feel sorry for myself today. 

I sigh and run my fingers through my hair, toss and turn in bed for a while, fumble around for my phone, find it under my pillow.  
Flip through Instagram for a couple of minutes, pull up Twitter. Boring. Meaningless.

I look through my messages. Open the chat I have with Armie. The last text he sent was three days ago. 

** < My world is a better place with you in it. I can't lose you. Please. Please come back! > **

I press “send” before I change my mind. Before I start to convince myself that I should leave him alone for at least a couple of hours, a couple of days.

Fuck. Fuck! I shouldn't have done that. Look at desperate little Timmy begging for him to come back. Pathetic. Pathetic!!

I throw my phone to the bottom of the mattress. Bolt up straight away to go after it, regret it immediately as I feel bile rushing up my throat, vomit filling my mouth, leaking though clenched teeth and my hand covering my mouth. All effort to keep it inside is futile and I end up puking all over my blanket. Fuck, fuck, FUCK!

I just sit there in my own mess for a couple of minutes. Pretty sure if I move I'll throw up again. 

My head is spinning, my stomach in knots, my heart is racing, is hurting? Is broken.  
Is this a hangover or can you die from a broken heart?  
My legs start to tingle. I can feel heat crawling up my toes into my ankles, up my calves. My fingers feel funny, like rubber. Burning rubber. I can't lift my arms.  
My chest is tight; I feel like I'm being held under water with no chance of coming up for air. I can't... I can't breathe. I can't fucking breathe!  
I'm hot, sweaty. So fucking hot. And cold. Freezing.  
Is my shirt getting tighter around my body? The fabric clings to my skin, it's suffocating me. I try to tear it off my body, fail, get stuck.  
I'm frantic, shaking. I'm gasping for air - shallow, sharp breaths that get caught in my mouth and don't reach my lungs, tears streaming down my face. 

I'm dying! This is what death feels like. I'm going to die. Alone. I'm going to die alone, sitting in my own vomit. 

All of a sudden I feel a hand on my shoulder. 

I turn my head, squint my eyes and look at Pauline. I see her lips move but I don't understand what she's saying. The words don't reach my ears. Everything starts to fade. 

_“Tim. Tim. Calm down. Breathe. You need to breathe. Long breaths, Timmy. Look at me. Long breaths. You can get through this. Breathe. In through your nose, out through your mouth. I'm here. I'm not going anywhere.”_

Pauline has crawled into bed with me – has she not seen the puke everywhere? I want to warn her but the words catch in my throat.  
She puts her hand on my chest.

_“In through your nose... out through your mouth... in through your nose... Remember 5-4-3-2-1. Name five things you can see.”_

I take a deep breath.

 _“You...”_ I look around the room. _“The window... curtains. My bed... puke on my blanket...”_

_“Good. Now four things you can feel.”_

Another deep breath.

_“Your hand. My back... against the wall. Mattress. Headache.”_

_“You're doing great, Timo. Three things you can hear?”_

_“Your voice. My voice. Cars... outside.”_

_“Almost there.”_ She rubs her hand over my chest and I can feel myself calm down. _“Two things you can smell?”_

I inhale another deep breath through my nose and... 

_“Vomit... All I can smell is vomit!”_

Pauline laughs.

 

I can feel my body relax slowly.  
My chest doesn't feel as tight, I can feel the air fill my lungs again.  
My arms are still too heavy to lift, my hands and legs still feel like they are on pins and needles.  
I sit back, lean my head against the wall. I feel somewhat safe and in control again and begin to calm down. 

I feel her holding my hand and drop my head against her shoulder. 

_“It's gonna be okay, Timmy. I promise.”_

She puts an arm around my shoulder and pulls me closer towards her. She is stroking my hair, her fingers gently combing through my curls, just like my mom used to do when I woke up crying from a nightmare when I was little. 

I close my eyes and we sit like that for a few minutes.

_“Thank you. For being here.”_

_“I'll always be here.”_

She hugs me.

 

_“Now let's get you and this mess cleaned up! Shouldn't drink if you can't hold your liquor, little brother. You're disgusting.”_

Pauline smiles at me, gets up and starts pulling the sheets from my bed.


	5. Armie

The last mouthful of whiskey still stings in the back of my throat. It didn't go down without a coughing fit – maybe a sign I've had enough?   
Half of it came back up to mix with the stale taste of nicotine in my mouth and I already know I will regret tonight tomorrow.  
But for now I need to forget what happened. I need to forget the look on his face. I need to forget the way his eyes glazed over and the beautiful emerald green went dull, then blank.

I need to forget I broke his heart.

 

_“I'm no good for you.”_ Liar.

_“You have your whole life ahead of you, you're better of without me and all the baggage I come with. It's not fair on you.”_ Liar!

_“I don't love you like that.“_ Fucking LIAR!

As soon as the words rolled of my tongue, I felt bile rise up my throat and almost gasped for breath.  
I watched you sit up, head in your hands, running your pinky finger along your eyebrow. I know it's something you do when you need soothing, it comforts you when you are stressed.   
I could see tears well in your eyes and you trying to blink them away. And then you jumped to your feet and shouted at me.   
And you were right. Every single word you said was spot on. 

I am a fucking liar. I'm a coward and I hate myself. I'm scared. Mortified. 

I hear my phone vibrating on the glass table in front of me, take another sip of the whiskey, sigh and pick it up. 

**“My world is a better place with you in it. I can't lose you. Please. Please come back.”**

I throw my phone back on the table and it slides across the smooth glass, falls off the edge and lands on the wooden floor with a loud thud. 

I imagine him sitting on his bed, a broken mess, wiping the tears from his eyes with the sleeve of his gray hoodie, holding the phone in his right hand, staring at the screen, waiting for me to answer.   
Waiting for me to tell him I was wrong, that I shouldn't have said what I did. That I was sorry and that I was on my way to see him, that we would work things out, that I would leave her once and for all, that I would choose him him him, that I...

But I won't. 

 

I wrote a message to Pauline last night.   
She has always been my voice of reason, was always there when I needed someone to talk to, to pour my heart out.   
She was a great listener and an even better ass-kicker when I needed one. And God, did I need an ass-kicking now.   
But I know I can't expect her to choose sides here.   
I just hope she is there for him now. 

I pour the rest of the whiskey into my glass and light another cigarette. 

Time to drown in excessive, self-absorbed unhappiness only i am to blame for, and liquor.

My mind wanders between Timmy and my wife. 

My wife.

My wife who has been nothing but supportive towards all of my dreams, who has given me two beautiful children and has had all the patience in the world with me.   
My wife who has watched me fall head over heels in love with my co-star, watched me deny it for weeks, stumble and stutter my way through endless conversations about me and him and me and her and her and him until my head started spinning.   
My wife who gave me free reins, who tolerated my nights, sometimes days away from home, with him.   
My wife who knew I needed him more than I ever needed her - just one look after I had come home from Italy and she knew.

_"You follow your heart's desire. Don't resist it. Don't underestimate it. Your actions have consequences. I love you, with all my heart and soul, but even I have my limits. I can only let you go so far before the fear of loosing you completely becomes unbearable. You are my soulmate, my other half, but if you feel like something is missing in your life, I will let you explore. But all of this should not, MUST NOT be at the expense of your family, your kids, me. So, I'm begging you to be fair. Talk to me about this. Let us find a way through this. Together. Follow your heart's desire. And I hope you'll come back to me. To us."_

My wife. 

 

When I wake up, the room is bathed in sunlight. The brightness hurts my eyes and I squint as I make my way over to the windows to pull the curtains shut. 

 

He is standing on the sidewalk on the other side of my building, looking up. 

My heart sinks to my feet and my stomach drops even lower.

Fuck.


	6. Timothée & Armie

  
  
  


###  **Timothée**

I hear the buzzer even before my trembling fingers can press the button on his doorbell.

Maybe it's best to give us both a bit of time to mentally prepare for this conversation, so I decide to take the stairs instead of the elevator into the fifth floor.

It takes about five seconds for my anxiety to kick in and my thoughts start racing.

What the fuck was I actually doing here?

He would let me in, of course. Otherwise he wouldn't have let me into the building in the first place. But what happens when I'm in his apartment; standing right in front of him and staring into those ocean blue eyes.  
Would I break down in tears right away – I definitely feel like it at the moment. Would I even find the right words? Any words? Would he answer? Would he be annoyed that I just showed up out of the blue? No. Fuck that. He knows what I'm like. When he ignores me I get mad and irritated and I panic. I had to see him, otherwise I would have gone crazy, sitting at home on my bed, staring at my phone, waiting for it to light up with a message of him.

Pauline had warned me, even tried to physically stop me from leaving my place, but I'm 6 inches taller and pushed her out of my way. Rather harsh, I know, but undoubtedly quicker than to just stand there and argue with my big sister. I don't need to justify myself. I'm a grown man, I'm an ad...

... I miss the last step, stumble onto the landing and half way down the hallway.

Embarrassing.

I run my hands through my hair, smooth my tshirt down (like that makes any difference – it's not even ironed...) and suddenly I'm right in front of his door.

My heart feels like it's about to jump out of my chest and I'm beginning to worry that maybe, just maybe, he can hear my heartbeat through the closed door?  
I'm going to puke. No. I'm not. Am I? Fuck!

Do I knock or ring the bell again? Why the fuck am I so fucking nervous? It's only Armie. Only Armie. But in this moment, Armie is everything to me.  
I can't imagine my life without him.  
In a matter of months, my life has been turned upside down – He has turned my life upside down.

Not only has he become one of my best friends, no, there is more between us. It's like he has always been there. Like we knew each other before we even met and when we met, it was like this soul-binding experience that solidified our relationship and made him so much more that just a friend. He became my mentor, my brother. And somewhere along the way, between the trees in the orchard and grass of the villa we fell in love. It came so naturally that we both didn't realize it until it was much too late to walk away from.

And as soon as the people around me noticed what was going on between us, they started warning me. Preparing me for the inevitable. _'The wife... don't think you mean more to him than his wife' 'Do you honestly think he is going to leave his wife... for you?' 'He's just having a bit of fun. He'll drop you as soon as you get back to the States.'_

I had heard it all a millions times by the time the press tour started. But the thing is – he didn't drop me. Quite the opposite. We seemed even closer than before. I loved doing interviews with him. Talking about our time in Crema, the experience of shooting this movie, watching myself become the man I am today.  
People online started talking. Connecting the dots. We were too obvious. I was too obvious.  
The longing looks between us, the flattery during interviews, the gushing over how amazing a man he was and who wouldn't fall in love with him if given the chance.

Too much. Too obvious.

But it didn't stop us from sneaking into each others hotel rooms at night.

And now he is trying to convince me that all of this has been a lie?  
If only I could tell everyone about what he would whisper into my ear while fucking into me at night.  
  
Suddenly the door opens.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


###  **Armie**

#### 

  


I am still standing in the window, looking down when I watch him walk across the street towards the entrance.  
I turn around, sprint to the front door and frantically press the buzzer before the bell rings.

My heart is thumping in my chest and I can feel the blood pumping through my veins. I feel my face grow hot and my bowels feel watery. I'm not sure if that's the hangover or the guilt I feel.  
I don't even remember how last night ended.

I have a vague recollection of a phone conversation, tears. Lots of tears and begging for forgiveness.

My head is pounding and my stomach is revolting against the very idea of putting anything edible near my mouth. I feel like a cat shat on my tongue.

I'm getting too old for this.

The anticipation makes me nervous, my stomach growls.

I think back to the very first night we spent together. We lay in my bed in the apartment I rented in Crema in the dark of night. Lighting would sporadically illuminate the room and he would flinch at the sound of thunder rolling across the sky. I held him so tight, I was afraid I might crush his lithe body.

I remember having felt so happy, so blissful, that I never wanted to feel anything else but this. And he was the only person on this planet to ever make me feel this way.

The time we spent together means everything to me. He showed me how to let go without being self-destructive, and made me feel so free and loved in a way only a few people ever get to experience. He managed to bury himself deep under my skin, his face seared into the back of my eyelids.

But she was always there with us. In the room, in the bed. Lingering, sometimes just as a stale aftertaste. Sometimes her voice was still ringing in my ear while I was moaning his name.

He will forever own a piece of my heart. But the rest has to belong to my wife and my children.  
  
I take a deep breath and open the door. He is right there.  
  
_"Armie... I... "_ he looks surprised I opened the door, scratches the back of his head, runs his fingers through his hair and huffs out a breath.

_"I just had to see you. You didn't answer my texts or called. I was worried. I... I don't know. I didn't know what to do. I just knew I had to come here and talk to you."_

It spills out of him now.

" _I need you to know it's okay. I understand you are scared and how much of a big step this is for you. Take this as a new beginning for the both of us and I will be there to support you every step of the way. We have all the time in the world. I know I'm still young and you don't believe me when I say 'You're it. You are the man I want to spend my life with' but I do really mean that. You have been the greatest role model a boy like myself could ever ask for. When I think about my future, you are there with me. We. Us. Together. I know how happy I make you. I love this carefree version of you whenever we are together. The goofy version, the loud laughter and the endless conversations about anything and everything."_

He looks up at me with bright eyes, waiting for an answer.

_"I know it will be tough to leave Liz and the kids and I know this won't happen over night.  
But we've been doing this for two years, what's a couple more until you have sorted everything out. I'll be right here. Always. Please, Armie, I ... "_

_"Tim. Please stop! I have said everything there is to say. Please."_  
  
_"Armie, what's going on here? What's all that noise?"_

I turn around and stare at my wife.  
  
She is standing in the door to the bedroom, wearing nothing but a little black silk robe, her long brown hair in a messy bun.

I look back and forth between my wife and Tim and suddenly remember the phone call from last night.

I didn't call Timmy.

It wasn't him I begged for forgiveness, for another chance. It wasn't him I apologized to, cried over.

It was Liz. It was my wife.  
  
I look at Tim and watch the expression on his face change from flustered enthusiasm to deep pain and disappointment and try to ignore the pang of guilt I feel. This is what I have been trying to tell him.

It's her. I choose her. I choose my family, my kids. I choose my own damn misery over all the happiness this boy has ever made me feel because I couldn't live with myself if I left Liz and the kids. And I have to live with that decision for the rest of my life.

As much as it hurts me, I don't want him here. I don't want him to see me like this. With her. I know he can see right through me. Through all my bullshit. I'm foolish to think I can hide anything from him. But I need him to understand that whatever we had – it's not going to work out.

_"Liz. It's okay. Go back to bed."_

I look at Timmy and take a deep breath.

_"Tim just came to say goodbye. He's leaving for London soon. Big project..."_

I swallow, weakly smile at him then look back at my wife.

_"I'll leave you to it then. Goodbye Timmy."_ she squints her eyes and looks intently at him, turns around and closes the bedroom door behind her.  
  
  
  
The silence between us is deafening.  
  
  
  
He looks broken, beat, defeated.

_"I see... I guess you really have made up your mind then..."_

He lowers his head and slowly walks towards me, stops when he is only inches away from my face, shifts his weight forward and lightly presses his lips against mine.  
  
I reach for his hand but he pulls away, turns his back on me, grabs the door handle, opens his mouth as if to say something, just shakes his head instead.

He twists the handle, pulls the door open and leaves.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
This hurts me more than he will ever know.

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from Asia "Lying To Yourself"


End file.
